


Bookends

by 2raggedclaws



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:07:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24792073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2raggedclaws/pseuds/2raggedclaws
Summary: Reposting this from LiveJournal where it was written and posted in ... gosh, 2009. Eeep!
Relationships: William Adama/Laura Roslin
Kudos: 9





	Bookends

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting this from LiveJournal where it was written and posted in ... gosh, 2009. Eeep!

Bookends 

I.

One of the things Laura enjoyed most about Bill Adama was his size. His sheer physical size and strength. A body that could dwarf her, make her feel small, make her feel well ... like a woman. It was a somewhat uncharacteristic and mildly embarrassing admission, even if she made it only to herself. In her professional capacity as President she was in control - all action and resolve and the mettle of her will unbending against others. In private, Bill made her feel like a girl, and she was secretly thrilled by it.

Her hand disappeared into his, her strength gave way to his as he guided her - hand politely on the small of her back, or held her in private, less politely. Even his voice was large, encompassing ... filling her senses and shaping the borders of her world as she lay and listened to him read, or as his orders reverberated throughout the ship. 

Bill. He was her equal, she was his. 

II.

One of the things Bill enjoyed most about Laura Roslin was her softness. 

Oh sure, she was tough as hell and twice as smart and could give as good as she got but when he touched her ... when he touched her, she was warm and alive under his hands. When he touched her ... the small of her back in public (the rest of her in private), she gave under him ... warmth and flesh and colour and not the president, but Laura.

For a man who had lived so long in a world of straight lines, of metal and glass and oil and polish and unequivocal linearity, it was akin to throwing open a window on the first warm day of spring. She began to inhabit his space - amidst his leather and lamps and bookshelves, and he found he was starting to live for it. For her. A fractal burst of colour at the end of a linear day.

Laura. She was his equal. He was hers.


End file.
